Albion Rising
by luminare91
Summary: It's been centuries since Camelot stood tall. Now, magic stirs again. Key players awaken. The Round Table reconvenes. King and Queen are reunited. Friends and foes meet once more. This time, it's not just Albion that needs saving, it's Merlin.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Albion Rising

**Fandom: **Merlin

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **Slight violence, about what you would see in the show, and mild language.

**Pairings:** Arthur/Gwen No Slash

**Spoilers:** The whole damn series

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I still don't own _Merlin._ Would be nice if I did. My car is making funny noises….

**Summary: **It's been centuries since Camelot stood tall. Now, magic stirs again. Key players awaken. The Round Table reconvenes. King and Queen are reunited. Friends and foes meet once more. This time, it's not just Albion that needs saving, it's Merlin.

* * *

Prologue

It was the hardest thing Merlin had ever had to do, walking back into Camelot without his king by his side. Every step beat another hole into his heart. There were no more tears, however. He'd cried them all on the shores of Avalon.

Night had fallen by the time he reached the gates. Out of habit and a pressing desire not to speak to anyone until he found Gwen and Gaius, he slipped past the guards. It was almost too easy. They really did need to be more careful with all the mad sorcerers on the loose. Merlin didn't doubt that there would be many waiting to retaliate for Morgana's defeat. For all her cruelty, she had fought for the freedom of her people. That alone would have been enough to rally sorcerers to her cause. Her natural charisma, barely diminished by her madness, was just a bonus.

Merlin reached the castle more quickly than normal. Or maybe he just hadn't noticed the passage of time. It did seem to be moving in odd spurts. With the same practiced stealth with which he had moved through the town, he crept through the castle to Arthur and Gwen's private chambers. He supposed it was just Gwen's now.

He didn't bother to knock. What was the point of changing the habit of a lifetime when it was already too late? Arthur wouldn't be there to mock him for the rare show of propriety. His heart ripped a little further.

Gwen was still fully dressed. She was standing at the window, looking out of the courtyard. Even from across the room, he could tell that she was watching the gates, waiting for her husband. She didn't notice him enter. Gaius, who had been standing by the fire in silent company, did. The old man gasped. The queen spun round, took one look at Merlin, alone and so very broken, and crumpled. Her head dropped into her hands as her knees hit the floor and she was wracked with agonized sobs. Gaius clutched at the mantelpiece, his face pale, but silent. Acting on instinct, Merlin stumbled across the room to the woman who had been his very first friend in Camelot. He gathered her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and clutched at his tunic. Would you look at that? It seemed he had some tears left after all.

* * *

A week later, Merlin had changed his mind. Walking into Camelot without Arthur wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Picking up the pieces after all the losses was. They'd told Leon and Percival the news first. Leon had stood rigid in silent tears. Percival had punched the wall. When Percival had told him about Gwaine, Merlin had barely reacted. The pain in his heart was far too familiar.

He'd told them about Emrys, that he was the sorcerer who had saved them at Camlann, that he had come too late. He'd told them about Mordred and the prophecy and how he had tried so hard to prevent it. He'd expected them to hate him. They hadn't. Percival had figured it out long ago. Leon had given a weak smile and said that magic explained so much.

After a week of mourning, Gwen was crowned queen. The people rallied behind her, common born or not. Within hours, she lifted the ban on magic. She quelled any protest with the reminder that so many of them would not have survived Camlann without the help of magic. She then promptly named Merlin her court sorcerer and closest advisor. That took some getting used to, mostly for Merlin.

In time, they healed. The pain lessened, though it never left. Sorcerers seeking vengeance in Morgana's name marched on Camelot. They met the anger of Emrys. With the ban lifted, Merlin was free to study. He explored the breadth of his powers and was constantly amazed by what he could do. Magic came to him more easily now than it ever had before. Gaius said that it was remarkable. Merlin never told him what had happened in the Crystal Cave. He kept the meeting with his father close to his heart.

Gwen never remarried. It wasn't in her heart to do so. Some of the nobility muttered about the need for an heir, but he and Gwen both knew in their hearts that Camelot, that Arthur's vision, would die with her. All around them, the world was changing. Magic became ever more feared. Camelot was it's last haven. Even with the strength of her armies and the might of Emrys, it was only a matter of time. Camelot, with Arthur's fall, had become a relic of the past.

Four years after Camlann, Gaius died peacefully in his sleep. Merlin, Percival, Leon, and Gwen took his body to Avalon. They had done the same for Gwaine. Fifteen years later, Leon was killed in a raid. He took an arrow meant for a young knight on his first patrol. He too was taken to the lake. Gwen was next. At the age of fifty-six she contracted an illness that Merlin could not cure without wielding the power of life and death. Gwen would have killed him if he had tried that. He took her to Avalon before she died so that she might spend her final moments as close to her beloved as possible.

Camelot fell. In the days after the queen's death, the Saxons struck with relentless fury. Even Merlin's magic wasn't enough to drive them back and he felt in the back of his mind the balance of all things willing him to let it happen. So he and Percival took as many refugees as possible and fled. When they were safe, he counseled the citizens of Camelot to seek homes elsewhere and to forget. Everything had its time, and Camelot's was done.

He and Percival journeyed the world for the remainder of the knight's days. They helped where they could, fighting bandits, blessing crops in secret. It was nearly ten years after the fall of Camelot that Percival breathed his last, an old man.

Standing on the shores of Avalon, the boat that held his last friend fading into the distance, Merlin let fade his last great lie. The years melted away from his body. Sagging skin tightened and regained its youthful color. His hair darkened and shortened. For the first time in decades, he stood tall. He had never told them. Not even Gaius had known. At first, he hadn't been certain. Events in the Crystal Cave had only hinted that he might be immortal. The last thing Merlin had wanted was to give his grieving friends more need to worry. Even when he'd been certain that he was no longer aging, he hadn't said a word. It had been easy to mimic the weathering of the passing years, to use magic to physically age alongside his friends, to pretend.

He raised his hands to the sky. No words were needed. There wasn't a spell for what he was about to do. He wasn't even entirely sure how he was going to do it, just that he could. He reached for the magic inside him and for the magic around him and wove a great barrier. No mortal man would set foot on the Isle of Avalon and the lake would remain unsullied, both standing as a final testament to magic, until magic itself disappeared forever.

The effort sent him to his knees. The world spun for what felt like hours before he managed to catch his breath again. Merlin slowly hauled himself to his feet. Mist had gathered over the lake as the only sign that his spell had taken. His eyes lingered for one final moment on the Isle. Then he turned. He walked away, leaving Merlin on the shore and taking Emrys with him.

* * *

The years passed. Merlin kept to himself. He had little desire to undergo the pain of outliving his friends again and there was little place for magic any longer. Christianity was quickly taking hold. The old ways simply were not tolerated. In many ways, it was like Uther all over again.

Merlin travelled. It was difficult to stay in one place for too long without attracting attention. Sometimes he aged himself as he had alongside his friends, but frankly the few extra years weren't worth the aches and pains that accompanied seniority. He saw things that, even as an immortal warlock, were almost beyond belief. He continued to study magic, especially the strange practices he found in other lands. It all came easily to him. Magic was magic, no matter what language the spells were. He preserved it all in a tower that no one else could enter that stood near what had once been the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He knew it would be needed some day.

It was just his luck that he was drawn to important historical events. He saw the Battle of Hastings in 1066 from afar. While travelling in the east, he saw Ghengis Kahn unite the scattered Mongol tribes and he was pretty sure that he met Confucius. He applauded at the signing of the Magna Carta. He tended the sick during the Plague. It wasn't like he even could get sick and _someone_ had to do something. In a desperate bid to flee Albion for a while, he sailed to the Spice Islands on a Portuguese trade ship. From there, he ended up on a sugar plantation. When he saw the deplorable conditions, he cursed the owner with bad luck for the rest of his life as freeing the slaves would only put them all in danger. He would have done more, but he had learned a long time ago that sometimes saving the few made it worse for everyone.

He stayed out of the American War for Independence. Both sides were in the wrong with that one (1) and he wasn't about to get in the middle of it. Instead, he spent years with the native peoples, learning about their beliefs. It was the closest he had come to the Old Religion in a very long time. The new world lost its appeal after he was caught in the middle of the Civil War (and he hadn't wanted to knock sense into everyone so badly in centuries). He got himself back to Albion as fast as possible. He never could remember to call it England or Britain.

He visited the Lake of Avalon upon his return. A little town had grown up on the shore. The villagers fished on the lake, but they didn't set foot on the Isle, as Merlin had intended. Tired from his travels and fed up with the general state of the world, he disappeared into the few wild places that were left. Time was meaningless as he allowed himself to give over to his magic. It wrapped around him and flowed out into a world that needed it so desperately and at the same time didn't.

When he finally reined his power in, he became aware that something was wrong. He emerged from the Wild to find the world in the grips of a mighty war. The imbalance of life and death struck him with all the force of a mace to his gut. It nearly sent him to the round. He'd never longed for Arthur more.

Wishing did little good, so he conjured up the necessary papers and enlisted as a medic. He did the same when World War II began. When he found out about the concentration camps, he shattered every window in his building. He didn't stick around to explain.

"You all right, mate?"

Merlin blinked himself out of his memories. He did this, every now and then. He'd lived so much that sometimes, he just lost himself if what had been. He wondered if it helped keep him sane and drove him just a little bit madder.

He was sitting next to a window in a generic café somewhere in London. A young woman, just older than he appeared to be, with a dirty white apron tied about her waist was looking at him concernedly.

"Sorry, what?" he asked.

She gestured vaguely to the table in front of him. "You were staring at the sandwich like you wish it would go up in flames."

_If that were true, I wouldn't be trying so hard_. Aloud he said, "Just thinking, I suppose."

"Worried about the new term?" she asked knowledgably.

"Yeah." Not really. He'd been to university before. Every thirty years or so he went to medical school in memory of Gaius. He did history every now and then to see what they were getting right and what they were getting wrong. This time, it was Literature. He was getting a bit itchy to be one place for a while and it sounded like something that would keep him busy for a while.

"What year?" pressed the waitress.

Merlin smiled shyly. He had far too much practice at this. Deceit had become too easy. "First," he replied.

"Don't worry, love," she said reassuringly. "Freshman year isn't so bad. You'll manage. Do you want that reheated?" She indicated the now wilting sandwich.

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'll just take it go, if that's all right."

"I'll be right back with the bill."

He didn't wait. Pulling a few bills out of his pocket, Merlin dropped them on the table, picked up his sandwich, and left.

The sun had set long ago, while he was lost in his memories. The streets were mostly empty. Every so often, a car would trundle by or he would pass a man in a dapper suit, briefcase in hand, hurrying home after a late day at the office. This particular section of London was sleepy in a way that appealed to him.

He pulled a sheaf of parchment out of his pocket as he walked. For some reason, it seemed to hold enchantment better than modern paper. Merlin had spent an interesting few years figuring out how to make it, but eventually he'd figured it out. These particular pages were covered in the flowing language of Old Magic. All that was missing was the activation. Merlin had discovered early on that living forever came with a certain amount of lying. In more recent years he'd started keeping false identification with him at all times. It meant less sneaking around. However, tonight sneaking was exactly what he was doing. The one downside to the spell he used to replicate official documents was that he needed to know exactly what he was replicating.

Which was why he was breaking into the local public records office.

Merlin gave the parchment one last look, just to be sure the ink hadn't run or the pages hadn't been torn, as he slipped unerringly into an alley that ran behind the records office. He carefully tucked the parchment back into his jacket pocket and observed the building with a practiced eye. Hardly a high security office, it was easy to get inside. A wordless spell had the door swinging open.

He worked quickly. Within ten minutes he'd found every document he needed to duplicate. The original was laid alongside one of the pieces of parchment. Merlin spread his hands. Again, he didn't speak. He'd done this too man times for that. The words on the parchment glowed. They bled together, forming new words and lines. Then, the glow faded, leaving behind a birth certificate, several report cards without outstand marks (he'd been in school for centuries, it was only bloody fair), medical records, and some other paraphernalia that he might need.

A pang stabbed through Merlin's heart, as it always did when he used this spell. It was a variation of the one he'd used so long ago in a mad attempt to help Lancelot.

Shaking the maudlin thoughts away before they could consume him, Merlin quickly replaced the documents he'd removed from their respective filing cabinets. No one would be any the wiser. He tucked his own back into his pocket and quickly slipped out the door.

The magic hit him the moment the door locked.

It was like nothing he had ever felt before, not even in the days of Camelot, when magic had been at its strongest. He could feel it roiling under his skin. It took all of his considerable control not to loose his grip. He stumbled and caught himself against the wall. The magic ripped through him again. With a jolt like a kick to the stomach he realized that it wasn't his magic. This power was raw and primal, the very power of the earth. It was the magic he had felt in the crystal cave.

All thought was driven from Merlin's mind. The magic poured into him and through him. His own power battled the invasion instinctively. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. His very soul was in agony. Golden light obscured his vision.

Everything went black.

* * *

_(1) This is just something I picked up in my history class. One of the major grievances that the colonies had was that the crown was trying to levy taxes that they should have been paying in the first place. They just hadn't been required to for one reason or another. Of course there were a dozen other, very legitimate reason as well, but I can just see Merlin wanting to throw his hands up. _

_Author's Note: Okay, I know that I should be working on RoM or any of my other WiP and I promise that I am. This plot bunny just hit me over the head yesterday and it's amazing and I can't stop thinking about it, so here it is. _


	2. Chapter 2

Title:Albion Rising

Fandom:Merlin

Rating: T

Warnings:Slight violence, about what you would see in the show, and mild language.

Pairings: Arthur/Gwen No Slash

Spoilers: The whole damn series

Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own _Merlin._ Would be nice if I did. My car is making funny noises….

Summary:It's been centuries since Camelot stood tall. Now, magic stirs again. Key players awaken. The Round Table reconvenes. King and Queen are reunited. Friends and foes meet once more. This time, it's not just Albion that needs saving, it's Merlin.

_Author's Note: It's unlikely that updates will consistently be this quick. I was feeling motivated and I had time off that I really should have been using to work on my history essay. Don't get used to it, lol, especially since I have other fics in the works._

* * *

Chapter 1

The shrill tone of a phone alarm broke the early morning stillness. Robert Moore groaned and rolled over. One hand scrabbled across the cluttered surface of the bedside table for the offending mobile. His fingers brushed the cool edge of the phone. It skittered away from him and let out another tone just to spite him.

He groaned again and buried is head in the pillow for a moment before reluctantly pushing himself up. He grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen to shut it off. He sighed in relief at the blissful silence and then he noticed the time on the screen.

"I'm late!"

The mobile dropped to the bed. Robert scrambled out of the bed. One foot caught in the bed spread, sending him sprawling. One knee hit the bedframe. That was going to leave a colorful bruise by the end of the day. He was tempted to just stay on the floor. He could probably reach his phone without moving too much. It wasn't too late to call in sick and he had plenty of days off that he could use. His conscience got the better of him. The semester was starting in just three days. It was all hands on deck at the little off-campus bookstore, a favorite haunt of the literature and history students of Camelot University. Considering that all hands on deck meant that Robert and the sole other employee, a fellow work study student that he'd rarely seen and usually gave every appearance of being high, were both in the shop at the same time, he couldn't quite justify not turning up. Besides, he really needed the money.

Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, Robert hauled himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom where he took the quickest shower known to man. Still slightly damp, he pulled on the least wrinkled pair of trousers he could find and one of his semi-nice button ups. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, forcing it into a semblance of order that he knew wouldn't last. The atomic clock over his bed mocked him with the time. He was so very late.

Sock feet slid on the ground when he careered into the kitchen. He nearly cried when he saw that he had indeed set the automatic coffee pot to brew the night before. Robert slopped a copious amount of the blessed caffeine into his favorite mug. He didn't bother with his usual cream and sugar and instead choked down the too bitter, too hot liquid as quickly as possible. He dropped the mug carefully in the sink, grabbed his messenger bag, and bolted out the door. Sixty seconds later, he strode back into the flat and grabbed his shoes.

It was a good thing that The BookShop was just down the street and that the weather was cooperating with him. Robert sprinted down the sidewalk, clumsily dodging the few other pedestrians out at that time. Toby, the other employee, was lounging outside the door when Robert slid to a halt. The other man blinked disinterestedly while Robert fumbled with his keys.

He let them both into the shop. The smell of books and the strange weight that came to with every bookstore greeted them. Robert loved the aura within the shop. He was incredibly lucky to have landed the job for his work-study. Mr. Tomlinson had even agreed to let him come up early.

"Do you want the register of the back room?" asked Robert.

Toby just shrugged and shuffled past Robert.

"Back room it is."

It was probably for the better. Toby wasn't much of a people person.

Sighing tiredly, Robert dropped his back behind the counter and fired up the ancient computer. The monitor stayed stubbornly blank, no matter how many times he jabbed the power button. The damn thing was positively ancient. Out of frustration, Robert slapped the monitor. A tremor of energy rippled through his fingers. It felt almost like a shock. The monitor flickered and turned on. Robert raised an eyebrow. That was…different.

The old-fashioned bell over the door chimed and a young woman, clearly a university student, walked into the shop. Robert promptly forgot about the strange behavior of the monitor and pasted a smile onto his face.

"Welcome to The BookShop. How may we help you today?"

The woman started slightly. She'd been gazing around the shelves in something that might have been awe and hadn't noticed the counter or the man behind it. A shy smile tugged t her lips in answer. "Just looking. Um…where are the textbooks? You have them, right?"

"They're in the back. We haven't got room for them out here. What classes do you need?"

"Oh, well," a blush formed across her cheeks and she bit her lip fetchingly. "I really just wanted to check your prices. I'm not sure if I'll buy here."

"That's all right. If you want, I can go check the prices for you."

"Thanks!" She dug around in her bag and produced a wrinkled sheet of paper, which she handed to Robert. He glanced over it quickly.

"Be right back."

Toby was snoring slightly in the corner of the backroom. Music emanated from the earbuds shoved firmly in his ears. Robert rolled his eyes. Sometimes he really wondered how Toby managed to keep his work-study.

The books the young woman needed were easy to find, some of their best sellers. Robert quickly jot down the titles, ISBN's, and prices on a piece of paper.

"Here you go," he said as he came out of the back room. "The top prices is for a new book and the second is for a used. The last is for a rental. You've only got two of those. If you've got scholarship you can get a discount. This," he picked up a flyer of the counter, "explains how that works."

The young woman beamed. "Thanks! Do you mind giving me your name? In case I have questions?"

Robert felt himself blushing. It wasn't the first time that he'd had someone ask for his number since he'd started working at The BookShop. It wasn't as though he was horrible looking. The dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes wasn't completely unappealing, but he had a tendency to be awkward and no one had ever looked him twice before.

"You can just call the shop, I'm usually here," he hedged. Her smile slipped a little and he just couldn't help himself. "Just ask for Robert."

She beamed. "Right. I'm Tori. Thanks again for all the help."

The rest of the morning went a bit more smoothly. Robert spent most of his time sorting through the online orders. The school graciously sponsored a link to the shop for those interested in offering patronage to the local small businesses (that was almost the exact wording). Camelot University catered to a fairly wealthy student body that was pretentious enough to think that buying from the local bookstore instead of conglomerate was impressive. But he wouldn't get started on that.

He stacked the various texts together for each respective customer and labeled them meticulously before setting them on a trolley so that he could take them to the back when he had a chance. The computer froze a record three times. Each time, it shocked him and went right back to working. A steady stream of customers trickled into the store after Tori left. Some were students looking to pick up their orders; others were just interested in the quaint little shop they had found while running around their new home.

At noon, Robert took the orders into the back and dragged Toby to the counter, literally dropping the still half asleep stoner onto the stool behind the counter.

"Do you want anything from the bistro?" Robert asked.

Toby grunted. It sounded vaguely like a yes.

"Be back in twenty minutes or so."

The bistro across the street was bustling as usual. Robert ordered two club sandwiches, just in case Toby was indeed hungry. The girl behind the counter grinned at him when she handed over the order. He just blushed and hurried out the door.

The moment the bell rang, Toby retreated to the back again. He didn't even take his sandwich.

Robert felt strangely restless after his jaunt across the street. The computer had frozen while he was gone and it shocked him again when he tried to get it working again. It was the strongest charge yet and it left his skin tingly. Mildly freaked out, Robert hurried into the back. They'd gotten new inventory in a few days before and he'd been putting off sorting through it. Wandering through the shelves seemed like a good idea now, though.

The tingle didn't fade. He managed to push it aside while he sorted through the new inventory and wandered the shelves to find where it went. But when he let his guard down, the restlessness returned. It felt like his skin was too small and too tight. The world seemed too bright all of the sudden, too loud, and too close. Once or twice, he imagined that he could feel Toby breathing in the back room and he knew that someone was going to enter the shop before the door even opened.

He hadn't been so glad for the day to end since he'd come in with a raging head cold.

Toby fled the moment the clock struck seven. Robert was sorely tempted to follow, but he stayed behind responsibly to go through the motions of closing. The tingling was getting worse. Every inch of his skin buzzed. He felt absolutely wired, as though he'd had too much caffeine.

He was so keyed up that he went home and changed into an old pair of jogging short and a ratty t-shirt. There hadn't been much chance to go running since he'd come to Camelot. The job at The BookShop had kept him busy with long hours, even if there wasn't too much to do and moving in had taken up every other spare moment. Even now, he was tired and he had to be up early the next day, but he was just so restless.

As he ran, Robert's thoughts drifted. Things had changed so much for him in the past couple of months. He still couldn't quite believe that he was gong to be attending Camelot. It was a notoriously selective school. You either had money or you were brilliant. It was even better if you were both. Robert had never thought that he, the orphan who had been bounced from foster home to foster home, who'd been to what felt like a dozen different schools, would get the grades that would qualify him for a full scholarship to Camelot University.

It wasn't as though he'd led a particularly horrible life. He might have been a ward of the state, but none of his foster families has been that bad. They hadn't been home, either. He'd worked so hard to get away from that, but he'd never thought that he'd actually make it to Camelot.

There were days when he woke up fully expecting to find himself back in the dingy little attic room that he'd called his own for his last year of high school.

The tingling only got worse the longer he ran and the more his thoughts drifted. Robert stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, at least half a mile from his flat, and dropped his head into his hands. He almost expected his skin to crawl off his body. The ground felt unsteady under his feet and his heart was trying to beat out of his chest.

A car went by. The noise of the engine nearly deafened him and the wind of its passing felt like it was going to knock him off of his feet. Robert stumbled away from the street. His shoulder hit the wall of the nearby building with jarring force. The rough brick bit into his skin with more force than he would have thought possible.

Then, the tingling faded and the ground became firm beneath him again. Everything still seemed sharper than before, but it was bearable. Robert drew in a ragged breath. He needed to get back to his flat.

More than once, he thought he wouldn't make it. The world tilted or the tingling became overwhelming. This was the downside to being new to a city. He didn't know any one, not that he'd thought to bring his mobile with him when he'd bolted out his door, not that he'd really made friends, moving around so much. The busses didn't exactly run at that time of night and Camelot was it's own little town. It didn't have taxis.

Robert did, miraculously, make it back to his apartment. By the time the door closed behind, he was starting to shake. The restlessness had faded, leaving behind a bone deep weariness. He barely had enough presence of mind to make sure that his mobile was plugged up and the alarm set for the morning. Pausing only long enough to strip of his shirt and toss it aside, he collapsed on the mattress and curled into a shivering ball.

Sleep came surprising quickly.

* * *

_The stories always said that death had a stench. He hadn't believed it before. Now, he did. It smelled like sweat and blood and fire and hundred other foul things that he wasn't sure he could identify. Below him, two armies fought and died with a clamor that would ring in his ears for days, he was sure of it. His own chainmail weighed heavily on his shoulders and clinked with every breath. _

_A hand descended on his shoulders. His nerves were stretched to tautly that he nearly reached for his sword, though he knew there was only one person it could be. She was staring at him intently. _

"_Go," she hissed. Her eyes glinted madly. _

_He swallowed. He had so hoped that it wouldn't come to this. _

_The sounds of battle faded a bit as he made his way down the winding path that led from the top of the pass. It snaked away from the field before doubling back. For a moment, he could almost pretend that he was running away. There was a place where the path split. One fork led away from the pass. For a moment, he was tempted to take it. He didn't want to do what he knew would be required of him if he stepped onto the battlefield. He knew that he couldn't. If he didn't, she would and she would see it through. _

_He continued on. _

_Lightening flickered over the horizon. He paused and frowned. That couldn't be natural. His fists clenched. He prayed that she hadn't joined the battle. It was too soon. There was no one to stop her. _

_He quickened his pace, nearly racing around the last few bends in the little path. Lightening smote the ground. A dozen men fell to the ground. But they were her men. Impossible hope welled up in his chest. He looked up to the ridge of the pass. Directly opposite where he had been standing not so long ago was an unfamiliar figure. He had never seen the old man before, but he recognized the magic. His shoulders dropped and relief flooded him. He'd been so afraid that she had succeeded in killing their only hope. _

_Lightening struck again, smiting down more men. In the midst of the fallen bodies stood a single warrior. His armor glinted in the firelight. He was staring up at the figure on the ridge with mingled horror and awe. The man on the ridge stared back. Then he turned and disappeared. He hoped that the man was making his own way to the battlefield. It was only a matter of time before she appeared. _

_Something cold gripped his heart. She was still there. He could feel her in the back of his mind. Her magic was a presence he wished that he couldn't feel. With the man's appearance, she would be livid and desperate to end things. It didn't leave him much choice. _

_Reluctantly, he drew his sword from its scabbard and strode out onto the field. _

_Her men were fleeing. A few were still fighting. They paid him no mind and he was able to make his way unmolested across the field. It didn't stop him from discretely tripping a few of her soldiers. This wasn't what he had wanted to happen when he went to her. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted in that haze of pain and anger, but not this. _

_The warrior was kneeling beside one of his fallen men. He watched the warrior's head drop when the life left the solider he knelt beside. He crossed the field to the warrior. _

Stop me,_ he prayed. _Please, stop me. Kill me, if you must, but don't let me do this.

_Nothing happened. Nothing stopped him. He drew closer. _

_He didn't want to do this, but he had no other choice. She would be watching. If he didn't go through with this, she would and she would be sure that there was no chance of survival. _

_He purposefully allowed the tip of his blade to ring against a stone on the ground and stepped more firmly. The warrior stiffened. Good, the warrior had heard. He realized that he felt a bit nauseous and that his hands were shaking. _

_The warrior spun, rising smoothly to his feet and parrying the half-hearted blow that he had found himself making. Shock flickered across the warrior's familiar features. His stomach rolled again. Oh, he had never wanted this. How could he have not known that this was how it would end when he stormed out of the city? There as a reason he had turned away from her in the first place. He never should have gone back, no matter how twisted by grief. _

_Cold dread began to wash through him as it suddenly hit him just how far he would have to go. The man from the ridge hadn't reappeared. There was no one to stop him and he didn't want to think what she would do if he didn't make the move she expected of him. The warrior was still staring at him in disbelief tinged with anger and sadness. _

_He knew what he had to do. _

_He expected the warrior to parry, to stop him. The warrior was the better swordsman. He had never come close to defeating him in any of his training and then the warrior hadn't been trying. He expected to end up with the warrior's sword at his throat. He never expected his own blade to be the one to taste flesh. _

_The enchanted blade bit easily through the chainmail the warrior…no the king, he was a king, not a mere warrior. He could feel it slice easily through the flesh beneath the armor. The king's eyes went wide. He withdrew his sword. It nearly fell from his nerveless fingers. _

_The king jerked when the blade was removed. He gaped a bit. One hand went to his bleeding side. His knees wavered and buckled. He collapsed slowly. _

_He stood frozen, only able to watch. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. The man from the ridge…the warlock, he was a warlock, a warlock that should have stopped him. It was the warlock's job to protect the king. Why hadn't he protected the king? Why hadn't the king protected himself? The king was the best warrior in the land and he was but a barely trained novice beside him. He should never have been able to land anything more than a glancing blow. _

"_You gave me no choice," he whispered. He hoped that the king understood his meaning. _

_The words forced life into the injured man. With speed that a man hale and fit would have envied, the king lunged forward. He felt hot pain before he could even comprehend that they were suddenly eye to eye and the king had a handful of his mail. The pain made it difficult to think, difficult to keep hold of his own magic, but he forced himself to maintain control. They stared at each other. The king jerked his blade up. The pain spread. It intensified when the king removed his sword._

_And then the pain began to fade. He knew what it meant and he could find peace with that. This was how it was supposed to be. It wasn't the ending he'd been hoping for, but it was one he could be content with. Unbidden, a smile fought its way free. He hoped that the king could understand one day why this had had to happen. Maybe the warlock would explain. _

_His own knees buckled and he fell to the ground. It hurt a little, but only a little. He hoped the warlock hurried. He knew that the wound he had given the king was not mortal if treated, but only if treated. The warlock would have to hurry. He wished them all the luck he hadn't had. He never should have lost his faith. Maybe then, this could have happened differently. _

_He felt his energy drifting away. His final thoughts were of the warlock. Maybe, one day, Emrys would forgive him as well._

* * *

Robert Moore jerked upright in the bed. The sheets were wet with sweat and twisted around him. His chest was heaving. He could feel himself shaking. He gazed around the room frantically. It took him a moment to realize that everything was floating half a foot off the ground.

His gaze fell on the little mirror attacked to the chest of drawers across the room. There was a familiar tattoo on his chest that hadn't been there just that evening when he went to sleep. That wasn't what made him gasp.

His eyes were glowing gold.

That broke the spell. Everything hit the ground with a jarring thud. The downstairs neighbors were probably going to complain in the morning. That was the least of his worries. Images were flashing through his mind. Oh so familiar images of a life he hadn't remembered he'd lived until just moments before.

It hit him with all the force of the sword that had once killed him. He remembered.

Oh, _gods!_ He remembered!

* * *

_Author's Note: So...what do you think? _


End file.
